


Cielos

by Xiaolxn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Sex, F/M, Gabe to grab it and fuck her senseless okay, I saw Mercy's new haircut, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Shameless Smut, Smut, So yeah Gabe and Ange fuck, and I just needed, because Ange is actually just as dark as Gabe, idk how to tag this lmao, mercykill - Freeform, with all the new Overwatch shit that came out today, yeah it's one of those kind of fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-16 22:49:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiaolxn/pseuds/Xiaolxn
Summary: Overwatch is recalled, hope is restored, and the doctor is back in her little room in Gibraltar. In these halls, there was always one who knew her better than anyone else, one who fell to darkness, one who can't return if not under cover of the shadows into the bed of the one woman who was as dark and broken as him.{{AKA someone just saw Angela's new haircut and decided that would be a great handhold for sex.}}





	Cielos

He had liked it long.

It gave something to _hold_, something to _hang on to_, something to _change_ day-to-day depending on formality or lack thereof. He had liked how sometimes it would be bunched back hurriedly as she forced herself through late-night trials in the laboratories, or held back without a single hair out of place during surgery. Sometimes it would be loose and straight if she were relaxing, or curled in delicately at the bottom if she were out for the evening, or, on the _rarest_ of occasions, _curled_ and _styled_ with such _precision_ and _care_ for Overwatch’s formal and press events that it looked like she had descending straight from the _heavens_ as a gift for _humanity_, a humanity who _didn’t deserve her._

_Cielos_, he would think on those rare and beautiful nights, keeping his eyes averted to avoid the most _human_ of feelings in such a public space. Such _beauty_. Such _grace_. Such _delicacy_ on a creature so _far_ from delicate, a woman so _slim_ and _frail_ she could **snap** in his hands if ever he wanted her to.

_God, he wanted her to._

But now, when his fingers slipped from her cheekbone into those soft white tresses, they only slid so far before finding nothing but air. It was gone, _severed_, cut from her shoulders to just below her jawline to frame her face in a way which made him border on _suffering_; it was like the final stages of a marble carving, adding the finer details, perfecting that which he had already assumed was perfect.

All she had to do, all _Angela Ziegler_ had _to do_, to ascend from _angel_ to _God_, was simply _get a haircut._

She groaned as he pulled away from where his lips had been pressed to her collarbone, teeth marking up the pristine ivory flesh, flesh still damp from the shower. She had only emerged from the bathroom a few moments ago, entering alone only to return to a dark figure in the corner of her room, a dark figure which had wordlessly removed her towel and dragged her down into a silent abyss with him.

“_Gabriel_…”

Silent, _perhaps not,_ but certainly _muted_; Angela had only recently taken up residence once again in the Overwatch base in Gibraltar, and perhaps this rendezvous would more than certainly be in breach of her tenancy agreement.

_No indoor smoking, no pets, no internationally wanted terrorists._

He eventually forced himself back, fingers still curled in the wet strands of that beautiful, beautiful hair; her face was flushed, azure eyes heavily-lidded in a half-conscious expression, the kind of expression that twisted his stomach in the most glorious of ways.

God, she was _stunning_.

“You want me to stop?” he breathed softly, his voice filtering into a _rough_ and _deep_ growl through his **torn** and **broken** throat. His face, scarred and dark from the experiments that had made him what he was, was simply _fodder_ for her gentle touch, a touch he closed his eyes to lean into. His lips pressed to her palm and his eyes, red-rimmed and black and _monstrous_, flickered down to her own, reading her body like it were a book. He knew every _nuance_, every _tick_, every _inch_ of this body. He’d trained it, after all; _trained_ it, _examined_ it, _patched it up_ on occasion before _thoroughly claiming it for his own_ one cold night in Monte Carlo.

She had been so _young_ then, and he had been…

…_Younger_. He had been _younger_.

“_No_,” she eventually breathed in reply, reaching up to slide her arms around his shoulders. “No, don’t stop, Gabriel. Don’t come all this way if you honestly think I want you to stop.”

He nodded and leaned in again, pausing only a few inches from her mouth. He liked her to _work_ for it, **give** as much as he **gave**, and by _God_, she did. Her breath was hot as she pushed up against him, her tongue pushing through his chapped lips and along his own, pulling a low groan from the back of her throat. Gabriel’s hand was on her waist and she moved her own to press against it, just wanting his skin against her own. Her hips, barely covered by her towel, were flush against his own, his cock hard against her thighs through the fabric of his trousers; with every roll and push of her hips against his, she felt it rub against her and reminded herself of how much she wanted it, of how long she’d been without it.

“_Dios_, Ange-” he breathed, breaking off the kiss to reach between them, untying the cord of his trousers. “You wanting something?”

“Yes,” came her reply, _short_ and _simple_ and uttered in such a way that his hands faltered. “You want to give it to me?”

“Keep treating me this way and I’ll make you wait for it.”

“You were always good at _torture_, Gabe.” Oh _God_, just the _timbre_ of her voice in this otherwise silent room…he could feel his _pulse_ in his _crotch_. “I prefer _this_ kind to the other…”

“Stop lying, Ange.” He held her hips up against his own as he pushed his trousers down, revealing the pale and scarred flesh of his thighs. “A little bit of pain always did get you off. It’s why we always end up like this.”

It was hardly an untruth as it was; Gabriel, in this body, in this…_monstrous_ form he had become, _enjoyed_ hurting people. He _liked_ watching them suffer, _liked_ feeling their fear, and Angela Ziegler, the _prim_ and _proper_ surgeon and _head_ of Overwatch’s medical facility, hid behind this façade a _desperate_ need and want for the macabre, a _lust_ for the _pain_ and the _dark trust_ that came with it.

They had been bound for each other, from the first moment she sewn him back together after their first mission, from that fateful night in Monte Carlo. God, she was _engulfed in flame_ that night, a _living, burning being_ as she pushed him down into the car seats, letting his hands tug her hair loose as she moulded the shape of him inside of her, fucking him until the city was behind and again in his bed only moments after. That was the first real time he’d felt _alive_, really felt what it meant to have blood in his body, a pulse in his veins, wrapped up in this tiny, Alpine woman with a lust for the macabre as strong as his own.

Angela Ziegler was death as much as she was life.

Oh God…how she fit him so _perfectly_.

“Why did you come here?” came her voice on a soft whisper of a breath, bringing him with a warm lurch back to the present. He had, at some point, pulled the towel from her body, leaving her bare and beautiful beneath him. His own trousers were gone, and her hands were midway through pushing his hoodie up, fingers splayed across his navel. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, he noted, as she ran her fingers over each curve of muscle, each scar, each inch of skin. She really did still think him _beautiful_ in some manner, despite his new, undead form; it was such a _stark_ contrast to the rest of her, being able to see _beauty_ in _horror_ when everything around her was simply the latter.

Maybe she loved him.

Maybe he loved her.

Maybe they just _needed_ one another.

“…I _had_ to,” came his eventual reply. He straightened up to pull his hoodie over his head, revealing the extent of his suffering; Angela’s breath caught in her chest at the sight of the exposed bone and muscle, the scars, the mottled flesh, the small shards of metal that jutted out in random places; he truly was a _monster_, black smoke coalescing from each incision in the flesh to curl in the air before being sucked back into his veins. “I had to come. This is the first time in months I’ve known where you are.”

“Yes,” she breathed, relaxing into the sheets as he pushed back down against her, nose brushing along her own as her arms slid back around him. “Into the den of wolves itself, Gabriel. If you were ever _caught_ here-”

“By _who_, huh?” he growled, hand sliding underneath her to hold her hips firmly against his own, grinding slowly against her _hot_, _perfect_ flesh. Her moan was _divine_. “The _monkey_? The _little girl_ and her new _friend_? Tha_t fucking oaf_ and his _little squire_, you think they know how to watch the shadows, Angie? You think they know _anything_ about the _shadows_?”

Her spine arched as he ran his tongue over her jaw, fingers tightening in her hair to yank her head back to give himself more _room_, more _flesh_, just _more_. His cock was burning between her thighs, desperate to push into the heat of her core and fuck her senseless and screaming, but he held off, just for a moment. The _ache_, the _pain_, the _burn_ in his gut which he knew she was feeling _tenfold_, was the most _exquisite_ kind of agony, and it was something they both enjoyed. If they truly had time, time together, time enough where they couldn’t possibly get caught, God, what he’d _do_ to her. What kind of _pain_ they could explore, how _loose_ he could watch her become…he could see the _real_ Angela Ziegler, free of _boundaries_ and _expectations_, let that _darkness_ out of her.

As it was now, they had to contend with these rare and spontaneous explorations, catching whatever times he could vanish from the ranks of Talon for a night and she was unneeded in the newly reformed Overwatch. As of this moment, their sessions together were…quick. Hurried. Hot and bloody and exhausting and satisfying, and so, so personal.

It was Angela Ziegler and Gabriel Reyes.

_It was the only thing that made sense._

“**Shit**, Gabe-!”

It seemed his words had brought something else out of her, her chest pushing tightly against his as she hooked her thighs around his hips, breath coming out hot and fast. He pulled back slightly to look down at her, hand moving to her collarbone. His thumb pushed into the centre of her throat and she met his eyes again, lips parting as he applied a bit of pressure, cock burning against her crotch.

“I’m not even _inside_ you yet, Ange,” he breathed, voice dark as his fingers slipped around to hold her throat tightly. “You gonna cum already? You might want to pace yourself, baby…I don’t want to stop until you can’t possibly forget how it feels, until I’m part of you forever…_beg me._ _Beg me,_ Ange.”

“Or you could just fuck me,” she wheezed, her hand gripping the one on her throat. Her breath was _burning_, vision white as the air trickled out of her lungs. He was making her feel such sensations that she almost wanted him to carry on _choking_, _squeezing_, let her _die like this_ and let this be the last thing she felt, because _oh, what bliss_. “You just…fuck me, right now. Fuck _everything_. Fuck _Talon_, fuck _Overwatch_, fuck your superiors and fuck mine, and just-!”

His grip loosened on her throat and she sucked in a breath of air, air so pure and cold that she let out an audible gasp as the rush of oxygen burned through her brain, clearing her senses just long enough to feel every _inch_ of his cock as it slid inside of her, each _perfect_ inch, taking all the strength from her body. His jaw tensed as he looked down at her, at her expression, the way her body convulsed as his sack pushed against her, every precious tug of her walls against his shaft completing them. This was how it was always _meant_ to be; the two of them joined together, _one whole creature_, life and death finally united in _pain_ and _bliss_.

His mouth was on hers again and her senses seemed to return, arms locking him against her as she began to pant, his hips beginning to grind down, hot and firm, against her own. The damp of the shower water was now simply damp from sweat, a mixture of his and hers as their bodies twisted in unholy union on the bed-sheets of the organisation that brought them together, Angela’s legs twisted around his own as his hips thrust down, pinning her to the sheets as slick slapping sounds began to fill the air.

“That’s my girl,” he breathed softly, teeth on her ear as his hands ran up and down her waist. He could feel her nails digging in his back, black smoke leaking gently through the flesh she pierced; she was panting as she did so, her lips soft and warm against the hinge of his jaw. “One day, I’ll take you away…just for a few hours, just a night, and God, Ange…oh, I’m going to make sure you can make the noises you want to make, I’m going to fuck you until you can scream how you _want_ to scream…”

“You _are_,” she hissed, nails biting into his ass as he continued pounding into her slick cunt, taking care to angle so as to drag his cock over each _essential_ inch of flesh, hit each spot she _needed_ him to hit. “You think this isn’t _exactly_ what I want from you? _Shit_, baby, just keep…_just keep doing this…”_

He _growled_ and kissed her _firmly_, tongue running over hers as he pinned her hips against his own, ball-sack slapping against her wet flesh as he drove into her. She rarely called him _baby_, rarely gave into _pet names, affection, adoration,_ so much so that any taste she gave, he’d _devour_. She made him so _hard_, so _hot_, so _incomplete_…how did they ever survive apart? Why was there always a thin pane of glass between life and death when they were required to work so intimately together? Life was _cruel_, that was why. She was a _cruel, cruel woman,_ a _cruel woman_ with _high cheekbones,_ _short_, _golden_ _hair_, and a body so _hot_ and _warm_ and _wet_…

He felt her thighs tense and he let her push up against him; in a moment, she’d managed to roll them, pushing him down into the bed-sheets as she began to grind her hips down against his own, pushing his flesh further into her, the damp dripping down her pale flesh in little drops. His hands moved to her waist and she pushed her fingers against his own, panting as she fucked him down, further and further into sweet oblivion. He watched her _intensely_, never blinking, eyes lidded and heavy as he traced every feature, every scar he was so familiar with, and some he wasn’t. His hands moved up her front, finger dipping into her navel as they travelled upwards. She still continued to grind down against him, panting as the base of his cock stretched her into new levels of bliss, eyes closing as his fingers found her breasts, thumbs tracing over her nipples before squeezing gentle handfuls.

“Beautiful,” he groaned softly. _“Angelita…me encanta…”_

“I know,” she breathed in reply, leaning forwards as he fondled her chest, his hands a delicious cold against the heat he had worked up. “I know, Gabe, I don’t want you to _leave_…_don’t leave…”_

He groaned _pitifully_ as he gripped her shoulders, raising his knees to bend her forwards. She did so _urgently_, giving him more room to brace his heels against the mattress and fuck up into her, her gasps breaking out into loud little whimpers. Her precious lips parted against his chin as he thrust up into her dripping entrance, his gut plummeting. She was so much _tighter_ than before, drawing him further and further into her embrace; his fingers gripped her chin and he opened his mouth against her own.

“Inside-?”

“You sh-shouldn’t-”

“Then tell me not to.”

“...Y-you shouldn’t _want_ to-!”

“_Inside_.”

She let out a shaky moan as he gripped her hips and rolled them again, tucking her little form underneath his own as he curled around her, her ankles locking behind his back as he thrust hard and fast, spearing into her as they trembled in tandem. Her breath came out short and sharp and coalesced into a chorus of _“ah-ah-ah”’s_ as he drew her to her _peak_, unable to hold on anymore. His own moans began to become _audible_, _twisted_ and _agonised_ groans of pure _bliss_ as his thrusts jolted, eventually shoving his hips against her own in one last violent thrust to reach his end.

She was already cumming when he hit his high, her wet splashing over his crotch as he held her face into his neck, his mouth against her collar as he spilled his seed inside of her, _grunting_ and _stuttering_ as thick ropes squirted from his cock into the deepest crevices of her womb. It was _dead_, whatever he gave her, _dead_ _seed_ in _barren soil_, but _more_ than _plentiful_; the more she _convulsed_ in her own orgasm, the more her body _tightened_ and _milked_ him, drawing out every single drop of his worthless seed. His hips stilled as her panting filled the room, her soft, beautiful body going slump after receiving such a _beautifully futile gift._ He felt her hands on his forearms, felt her ankles release from his back, felt everything go _limp_ as he _sucked_ the _vitality_ from her, slowly pulling back from her _damp, hot_ form.

“_**Shit**_,” was all he could breathe, slipping his deflated cock from the mess between their thighs. He stared down at her, at this _perfect chaos,_ before pulling back and standing up, running his palms over the shorn, scarred skin of his scalp. _He was hot._ His _heart_ was _beating_. He was _alive_ and he was _alive_ because this _enigma_ of a _woman_, this _personification of life and death itself,_ wrapped in a _slender body_ with _icy eyes_ and that_ beautiful, beautiful hair,_ made him feel _alive_.

He began to dress slowly, choosing not to bother with the mess he tucked away into his pants. He’d only recall the sensations later, recall how she felt, recall and fuck lazily into his fist to try and remember the embrace of her body and ruin any attempt at getting clean. He pulled his hoodie over his head and prepared to leave when he felt those devilish hands on his back again, the soft flesh of her breasts against his spine, that mouth on his neck. He fell still as she held him against her, barely able to hold her own weight but relying on him to do so for her.

“_Gabriel_…”

“I know. I know, Angie. I gotta go.”

“Then so do I.”

“You have to stay.” He turned to look at her as she kissed his clothed bicep slowly, eyes squeezed shut as he wrapped his fingers tightly around her wrists. “_Angelita,_ I need you here. I need to know where you are. I don’t give a _fuck_ who you’re with as long as I _know you’re with them,_ as long as I know where I can find you when-"

“-When you need me?” she breathed, legs parting as he stepped between them, still holding her wrists firmly. “On your terms, Gabriel?”

“Would you come find me?” he breathed. “Would you come into the _shadows_? Leave the _lions den_ and _lie with the dogs_ for a few nights? Would you come find me in Talon, Angie, the same way I come and find you here?”

Her silence answered his question more than any denial could. His eyes, still _black_ and _bloodshot_, softened slightly and he released her wrists, hands sliding into her hair to pull her forehead to his stomach. Her fingers curled tightly in his hoodie and he nodded gently, eyes closing.

“…Sorry, Angie. But I’ll be back. I’m always back.”

Silence, silence for a few seconds, before a _soft_ reply, _soft_ as _venom_;

_“…For the road?”_

He was still for a moment, gnawing on his lip as his milled her words over in his head; he couldn’t delay, he had stayed too long already, but oh, her hands had already pulled the band of his trousers down…and _oh_, her _mouth_…

His fingers tightened in that hair of hers as she sucked him down, a note of urgency in her movements, desperate for these last few moments together. He was _hard_ again, _hard_ and _hot_ and already in the back of her throat, whispering _“fuck, fuck, fuck-!”_ through gritted teeth as he thrust into her open mouth, letting out a pitiful whimper as he clasped her chin between his thighs to unleash a few feeble dribbles of that lifeless seed onto her waiting tongue.  
  
_Cielos._  


Her smile was sad but satisfied, tasting of sweat when he pressed his lips to hers in a quick but decisive farewell.  
  
_Cielos._  


He was alone in the jet, tucked amongst some cargo, shaking at the thought of the time it would take before he could hold her again, taste her again, love her again.  
  
_Cielos._  


Three hours in and his hand was down his trousers, trying to feel her mouth again, trying to remember what _for the road_ would feel like _on the road._ That _blonde_ _hair_. Those_ blue eyes._ Those _hands_ that knew every_ inch of his body._

“Cielos.”

_“Cielos.”_

** _“Cielos.”_ **


End file.
